


Found Time

by frumplebump



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Battle City Arc, Canon - Manga, M/M, Thiefshipping, blimp sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 04:41:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7153979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frumplebump/pseuds/frumplebump
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Battle City has ended, and it should all be over now for Malik. But there's still a twelve-hour trip by airship ahead of him, and Bakura has regained control of the Ring...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Found Time

**Author's Note:**

> This follows the manga continuity. A quick summary of the events immediately preceding: after the final duel, the tower on Alcatraz is set to detonate. Ryou retrieves the Millennium Ring while the gang is running around searching for Kaiba and Mokuba, then everyone (except the Kaibas) leaves on the Battle City airship. The manga has helpful little time indications sprinkled throughout, which imply that it took them about thirteen hours to get from Domino City to Alcatraz in the blimp, thus also a long and potentially awkward trip back home.

Malik was scoured out, flayed and dried, a husk. If not for the weight of his siblings’ eyes on his back, he would have felt totally insubstantial as he crossed the deck of Kaiba’s airship. It might have felt good, this emptiness, but he wasn’t sure he remembered what _good_ truly felt like. Not to mention that his body hadn’t slept in days, and his spirit had been untethered from the physical realm for nearly as long. It really drained a person. 

The morning sun was bright and burning in a cloudless sky, but the symbolism didn’t comfort him. It just made him sweat, made his head pound. Long before he recognized his dark self for what it was, he had learned to accommodate the pull of it dragging at his mind. Now, with it gone, he didn’t know how to carry his own weight. He felt too light, as if gravity alone could crumple him. He needed to relearn how to walk. 

Yuugi and Anzu were still above deck, and they too turned to stare at Malik. He offered them a cautious smile, leaving it to his sister to assure the Pharaoh’s vessel that Malik did not need monitoring or guarding or anything except time to be alone. He couldn’t blame Yuugi for being on edge. They were all trapped together on this blimp for the next twelve hours, with nothing to do until they returned to Domino City besides test their faith that the darkness really had been vanquished, that Malik really was cleansed of his murderous alter-ego, that the Millennium Items really were safe and inert. 

 _Bakura_. Malik’s lips formed the syllables of the Ring spirit’s name, tasting them silently. Where had he gone? He doubted that his own dark self was powerful enough to destroy the spirit permanently, but when Malik reclaimed control of his own body, he’d felt nothing from the Ring hanging around his neck. It was cold and heavy as he handed it over to the Pharaoh’s vessel; he didn’t know whether that meant the spirit was obliterated, or dormant, or just fucking with him. The spirit’s host was back in control of their body, and despite his scrutiny Malik detected no hint of the other Bakura in those wide eyes. 

He made it to his room, flopped onto the bed, threw an arm over his face, and woke up to the sound of the door latch opening. Disoriented, he tried to remember falling asleep. The door clicked again as it closed, and he looked up. “Bakura… Ryou?” 

The Ring flashed as it manifested from behind the fabric of the boy’s shirt. “You know better.” Bakura flipped the lock. 

Malik sat up, his expression shifting into a heavy-lidded, feline stare that veiled the calculations of his brain. The spirit was smiling at him, exposing the points of his teeth, but Malik read no threat in it—just his usual haughty amusement and the crackle of controlled madness, and maybe something like… hunger? Malik tallied the points in his own favor, the cards in his hand, and came up uncomfortably short. He owed Bakura, for the life of his brother and, by extension, his own. Not an easy debt to cancel. 

He eyed the Ring, now shining blatantly on the spirit’s chest. “I gave that to Yuugi a few hours ago. What did he do, just hand it back to you?” 

“As good as.” Bakura shrugged. “Left it sitting on the table in the middle of an unlocked room. My host just walked in and took it.” 

“Your host wanted you back? After all this?” 

“I don’t think he knows what he wants anymore,” Bakura said, and laughed. “Not a problem I suffer from, fortunately.” 

His tone made Malik’s gaze slide again to the locked door. “And the Rod? Do you have that now, too?” 

“I left that, although it was there for the taking. Want me to go fetch it for you?” 

“No,” Malik said, through gritted teeth. 

Bakura chuckled. “The new Malik Ishtar.” 

Malik ignored that. “Why, though? Why didn’t you take the Rod? And for that matter, why aren’t you going after the other Items and the Pharaoh’s vessel right now, while we’re all stuck here on this airship, if you’re back in control of the Ring?” 

“I thought you were supposed to be on the Pharaoh’s side now, Malik.” 

“I’m on no one’s side,” Malik said. “But what you’re doing doesn’t make sense. Why are you here?” 

Bakura smiled as he approached Malik. “The Items will all be gathered together again soon. The Pharaoh’s memories will reawaken, and the next phase will begin, and until then it serves me better to bide my time.” 

“Then why steal back the Ring now? You think Yuugi’s not going to notice?” 

“Do you know how many times my host has sweet-talked his way out of wearing the Ring? Yuugi will let him keep it, as long as I don’t put in an appearance in front of him and his friends.” 

“Fine. Then what the hell are you doing _here_?” 

“What do you think?” Bakura sat down on the bed, an arm’s length from Malik. “I came to pay you a visit.” 

Malik stared at him, unimpressed. 

“I don’t feel like we’ve really concluded our partnership, do you?” Bakura mused. “That unpleasantness with your dark half and the Winged Dragon of Ra—that wasn’t the way I’d choose to end our association. No time to wrap things up.” 

Again, he felt his debt to Bakura tilting the balance of control away from him, and he frowned. “If you want the Rod, just go and take it. You know it’s not mine to give anymore.” 

“I’m not talking about the Rod.” 

Malik swallowed. “The secrets on my back.” 

Bakura’s mouth curved up in a smirk. “You did promise. I saved your brother from your darkness—weren’t those the terms of our deal?” 

“I don’t know if temporarily distracting my dark half by losing spectacularly to him really counts as upholding your side of the deal.” 

Bakura gave a short laugh. “Details,” he said. “You got the outcome you wanted, and you’d both be dead if I hadn’t helped you.” 

Malik couldn’t argue with that. “Seeing my—the markings won’t do you any good now. The Pharaoh won, he saw them first, and how will you even know what you’re looking at?” 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Bakura leaned towards him. “What have you got to lose, Malik?” 

He let out an aggravated sigh. Easier at this point to capitulate. “Fine. Enjoy.” He tugged his shirt off in one rough motion and turned his back. 

The spirit said nothing, didn’t make a sound, and the silence pressed against Malik’s throat like a knife blade. Then he felt the bed shift, and jumped at Bakura’s cold fingertips suddenly on his waist. 

“I’ll let you in on a secret, Malik,” Bakura murmured. “I already saw your scars. When you showed them to the Pharaoh—I was in the Ring, I was watching.” 

“Then what the hell are you—” His voice choked off in a gasp as Bakura pressed his lips against the curve of his shoulder, just above the line of the wings splayed across his back. 

“I just wanted to get your shirt off.” Bakura’s hand shifted, one finger slipping below the waistband of Malik’s pants. “What other secrets will you share with me?” 

Bakura’s mouth and fingers on his skin were like electrical charges, lighting up his nerves and generating enough energy to flip a switch in his brain. He had been holding the truth away from himself, down in the darkness where he didn’t have to process it, but abruptly, he understood one thing with profound certainty: he wanted this. Since those first moments with Bakura on the pier, the empty space inside him had been collapsing into an urgent, dark core of desire, and now he was too close to break away from its pull. This was the final thing he wanted from this whole Battle City mess and, maybe, the only thing he’d be permitted to take from it. 

Malik faced Bakura, leaning a little closer to him. “I’ll make you earn them.” 

Bakura’s eyelids lowered with pleasure. “Careful, Malik,” he said. “I’m a thief. I’m known for taking what I want.” 

“So am I.” Malik pushed his hands up under Bakura’s shirt, marvelling at how smooth and cold his flesh felt, like marble with a pulse. He flattened his palms against Bakura’s ribs, ran them around to his back and felt a hot rush in his nerves as Bakura’s spine arched under his touch. Bakura’s lips parted, still curved in a smirk, but now Malik could see the tip of his tongue against his teeth. 

Malik brought their mouths together, too hard. They reflexively recoiled from the crash of lips and teeth, but then Bakura’s hand was on the back of Malik’s head, holding them against each other. His mouth opened, and Malik accepted the offer greedily, tasting Bakura’s tongue with his own as he bore down on him. Bakura’s other hand was on Malik’s chest, teasing his nipple until Malik moaned involuntarily into Bakura’s mouth. He opened his eyes in surprise at his own loss of control, and found Bakura’s gaze locked on him. 

“Stop staring,” Malik said. 

“Take it as a compliment.” Bakura combed his fingers into Malik’s hair, then tugged his head back, baring Malik’s throat. Malik stifled another moan as Bakura worked along the line of his jaw with lips and teeth and tongue; his nails bit into Bakura’s back as Bakura reached his earlobe, toying with his earring and teasing the hollow of his ear. 

“Gods,” Malik exhaled. He was vibrating down to his core, overcharged, overloaded, each touch from Bakura’s hands and mouth so good it felt almost like pain. He shifted a little, trying to relieve the discomfort of his pants pressing against his erection. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?” 

“I thought there were more urgent matters,” Bakura murmured against the side of Malik’s neck. 

“We could have made time.” 

“We have time now.” He sat back a little to pull his own shirt off, the Ring resettling against his bare chest with a soft _clank_ as he shook his hair out of his face. There were scars on his chest beneath the points of the Ring, and the bandage around his left bicep was spotted crimson with fresh blood, but none of that registered for Malik. All he saw was the lust in Bakura’s dilated pupils as Bakura stared at him. Malik let out a groan between clenched teeth and shoved Bakura down against the bed, moving to straddle his thighs. 

Malik rolled his hips against him just as Bakura pushed up, and they both gasped as they collided. Lowering himself onto Bakura’s chest, Malik scraped his teeth along Bakura’s arched neck. The pulse throbbed against his lips as he tongued the delicate skin, then closed his mouth over it to suck, suck harder, bite, bite harder, hunting for the point at which Bakura would protest or push him away. 

Instead Bakura breathed out a sharp _ah_ , clipped like he couldn’t quite stifle it, and tightened his grip in Malik’s hair. Malik left a trail of darkening bruises along Bakura’s throat as he tried again to get him to make that sound, until he was distracted by Bakura’s fingers working their way down from Malik’s head, skimming the gold collar and then tracing along his collarbone, down his sternum, around the muscles of his chest. Bakura kept his hands well away from Malik’s back, and Malik transmuted his burst of gratitude into a rough kiss pressed against Bakura’s throat. 

He could feel the unrestrained heat of Bakura’s stare as his hands moved lower, working at Malik’s belt buckle. By the time Malik stepped back to get out of his pants, his own hands were quivering with urgency.

Bakura hiked his hips on the bed to slither out of his jeans, and then he was laying there naked, looking up at Malik with all his usual sardonic smugness, while Malik couldn’t make his eyes focus on anything but Bakura’s dick. He watched as Bakura’s hand drifted down between his legs, as he began to fondle himself, as he crooked an eyebrow at Malik. At that he pushed forward, knocking Bakura’s hand away. Bakura’s skin was tight and hot, and he was already a little wet but Malik spat into his palm anyway, working him the way he liked to touch himself. 

Bakura sat up halfway, locking his leg around Malik’s and dragging him close enough to wrap his fingers around Malik’s cock. He moved slower than Malik, with longer, heavier strokes, and watched with a self-satisfied smirk as Malik shuddered. Malik knew Bakura wasn’t in total control of himself—he was panting, and his flush had spread down to the hollow of his throat—but it was all Malik could do to bite his lip and try to pace himself. 

“How do you want to do this?” Bakura said. 

Malik looked at him. “I want to fuck you.” 

Bakura’s tongue played against his teeth as his eyes darkened. “I can work with that.” He tossed his head. “I think there’s hand lotion in the bathroom.” 

Dazed, it took Malik a moment to process the intent of Bakura’s statement. He tried not to stumble as he went to retrieve the lotion from the collection of complimentary KaibaCorp-branded toiletries—as if a bunch of nerds on a blimp to play card games were really going to spend a lot of time pampering. 

Bakura took the bottle from Malik as he came back to the bed, glanced at it and shrugged, then emptied some of it onto his fingertips. His eyes stayed locked on Malik as he rose up on his knees, bringing his hand around to his own ass. 

Malik’s pulse throbbed insistently at the sight of Bakura working himself open with his other hand on his dick and his breath coming fast through his open mouth. Bakura’s eyes slid down to the bottle by his knee and Malik understood, smearing the lotion into his palm to coat himself. 

“Gods, tell me you’re ready,” Malik groaned. 

“Ready when you are.” 

Malik grabbed Bakura by the waist and slung him down on his hands and knees. Bakura didn’t protest this position, though Malik was expecting him to. He felt the anticipation like a static charge in Bakura’s tensed flesh, and then he lined himself up and pushed in. 

Malik’s lips moved in a whispered curse as he pulled on Bakura’s hips, burying himself as deep as he could get in that first slow, long thrust. His words were smothered by a cry from Bakura, half-groan and half-shout, half pain and half pleasure. Malik eased back, almost all the way, and when he started to push in again Bakura was already shoving his hips back to meet him. 

Bakura felt tight and hot and so intensely _good_ but Malik fought the instinct to go hard, instead setting the slowest rhythm he could stand as he hung his head back and closed his eyes. There was a sharp pleasure in testing the limits of his own control, and even better was that he was tormenting Bakura too. Bakura tried to rock himself back against Malik, to demand a faster pace, but Malik dug his fingers into Bakura’s hips and held him steady. 

“Is that the best you can do?” Bakura taunted. 

“Shut up.” He leaned forward to grab a hank of Bakura’s hair, twisting his fingers close to his scalp to keep him upright. Then, finally, he let himself speed up. 

A shiver worked its way through Bakura’s muscles as Malik tightened his grip in his hair. “You like that?” Malik demanded. 

Bakura’s only response was a hoarse groan. 

He yanked Bakura’s hair, making him bend his neck at an angle that let him see the whites of his eyes. “Do you like that?” 

“Fuck, Malik, yes!” 

Bakura’s voice was ragged, coming undone, and the sound of it set something aflame in Malik like a spark falling into dry kindling. He was primed for this, had been since the day he offered Bakura the choice of partnership or death. Even as he fastened his own soul to him, there had been a hunger to see his cold poise disintegrate—to crack it apart with his own hands, to stare into the swirling chaos. 

Malik released his hair. Bakura tried to collapse down onto his forearms, but Malik slid his fingers under the cord of the Ring and dragged it back, gathering up the slack in his fist. Bakura exhaled in a sharp gasp as the cord sawed against his throat, forcing him to curve his spine and tilt his head back, but he didn’t fight. Instead he turned just enough to give Malik a look that slammed through him like a shock wave. 

“Bakura,” he breathed. 

Malik reached between Bakura’s legs. Stroking him in time with his thrusts demanded more finesse than Malik could muster, but at this point it hardly seemed to matter, since Bakura was coming apart at his touch. He let the Ring’s cord loosen as he felt Bakura get even harder in his hand and tighter around his dick. Bakura sucked in a shaky breath, let it out in a soft groan of “oh gods, Malik,” and then he was spilling hot between Malik’s fingers. 

The sound of Bakura moaning his name through his orgasm drove Malik right to the edge, and he savored the aching need for release until finally it was too much, even for him, and he let himself go. He held Bakura’s body tight to his own as he gasped, draping himself over his back with an arm around Bakura’s chest, and they collapsed together into the sheets and Malik was still inside him, still watching stars dance across his eyelids. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, his mouth in Bakura’s hair. 

The sweat started to cool on his back, itching in the tracks of his scars. After a moment Bakura shifted and rolled out from under Malik’s weight. He gestured lazily in the direction of the bedside table, at the box of tissues that he couldn’t quite reach. Malik rolled his eyes, but complied, watching sleepily as Bakura cleaned himself up. 

“Bakura, you…” he started to say, but exhaustion slurred his voice and scrubbed the rest of the words from his brain. 

“What?” Malik heard Bakura ask, but before he could figure out a response, sleep pulled him down like a rip tide. 

 

* * *

 

 

As Malik slept, Bakura’s eyes traced the lines incised across his back. He no longer particularly cared that the scars encoded the Pharaoh’s memories, although it did amuse him that the Pharaoh’s prize was now sprawled naked and sated at his side. He was more interested in the way the marks stretched and then relaxed, ever so slightly, with each of Malik’s breaths, as Malik’s body gave life to what should have been dead for millennia. 

Malik inhaled deeply and rolled onto his side. Light flashed off the gold at his wrists as he pushed his hair out of his face and opened his eyes. He blinked at Bakura. “Have you just been sitting there staring at me while I sleep?” 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you.” 

“I never said you could stay here.” 

“Are you kicking me out?” 

Malik shrugged, trying to suppress the smile twitching around his lips. 

“Good,” Bakura said, leaning over him. “Because it’s still a long way to Domino, and I’m not done with you yet.” 

“Careful, Bakura, you might get attached. Not that I’d blame you.” Malik’s smirk had a sharp twist to it. 

“You’re the one who needed no persuasion to jump in bed with me.” Bakura nipped at Malik’s pulse, then asked, “So tell me, was that your first time?” He leaned back to savor Malik’s furious glare. 

“It wasn't meant as criticism, I assure you.” Bakura let the tip of his tongue show as he grinned at the flush rising on Malik’s cheeks. “I’m just curious.” 

“How is that any of your business?” 

Bakura shrugged one shoulder, and bent down again, pressing his mouth against the side of Malik’s neck. 

After a moment, Malik muttered, “I’ve done some stuff with girls.” 

“Hmm,” was Bakura’s reply. He continued to tease along the underside of Malik’s jaw, feeling the muscles tighten under the skin, as he toyed with all the things Malik left unspoken on the edges of those words. “And how does this compare?” 

“Do you really need your ego stroked that badly?” 

Bakura lifted his head to give him a dark grin. “That’s not the only thing I need stroked.” 

Malik mirrored his grin, and Bakura felt his fingertips begin to trace his ribs, light enough to make him shiver. “How about you?” Malik asked. “First time?” 

Bakura laughed. 

“Based on that response, and your general reek of desperation, I’m going with ‘yes’.” 

He shuddered as Malik continued to torment him with the suggestion of touch. “Well, I admit I’ve had a bit of a dry spell.” He smirked. “Three thousand years, give or take a few centuries.” 

Malik held his gaze. “What are you, anyway?” 

“That sounds like a question you’d want answered _before_ you stick your dick in someone.” 

“Shut up. Three thousand years ago—who were you? What were you doing? Besides supposedly getting laid.” 

Bakura was quiet for a long time, watching Malik’s eyes dart as they searched his expression for a clue. When he opened his mouth, he wasn’t completely sure which words he was going to speak, but what he said was, “What happened in my life is none of your concern.” He ground his hips down against Malik’s. “Besides, it would kill the mood.” 

Malik’s fingers trailed up from his ribs to his shoulder blades, then raked back down, his nails leaving searing tracks on Bakura’s skin. “I still want you to tell me.” 

“Let’s just say you aren’t the only one who lost everything so that the Pharaoh could have it all.” 

“Is that why you helped me?” Malik’s fingertips slid up his back again and Bakura arched his spine, letting his eyes flicker closed. 

“I don’t know why I helped you. I didn’t plan any of that.” Bakura opened his eyes again and grinned at Malik. “This is the only thing I planned.” 

“Oh?” 

He bent to catch Malik’s smirking mouth in a kiss that was half teeth. “You gave me those five minutes on the pier to decide what I wanted to do. So…” He reached between their legs, curling his fingers around Malik’s renewed erection. “In any scenario, this seemed like the most desirable outcome.” 

Malik tangled his hands into Bakura’s hair, holding their faces close. “Then what are you waiting for?” he asked, pushing up into Bakura’s fist. 

Bakura answered his question with another haphazard kiss, then shifted to straddle Malik’s waist, reaching behind himself to stroke Malik fully erect. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling as he watched Malik gasp, watched his mouth fall slack and his eyes squeeze shut as Bakura took him into himself. Bakura paused, letting his own eyes close for a moment as he adjusted. Then he felt Malik’s nails piercing into his thighs. The breath he forgot he was holding shuddered out in a sigh as he started to rock his hips. 

Bakura looked down at Malik—at the golden hair splayed behind his head, the flush darkening the arch of his cheeks, the sharp kohl lines that were still somehow unblurred—and decided that despite all Malik’s pretensions, he had never looked more like a god than he did right now. His pulse quickened as his gaze roamed over the flawless body sweating beneath him and he smiled. Malik was, objectively, the most beautiful thing he’d ever claimed.

 “What are you grinning about?” Malik demanded. 

Bakura’s eyes went back to Malik’s, and Malik didn’t break his stare. There was something tantalizingly dangerous about this, something that hadn’t been there earlier even when Malik had him bent over on his hands and knees. As they watched each other’s faces, he had the sensation of teetering on a dizzying precipice, daring himself to lean just a little farther out, entranced by the threat of falling. It was Malik who turned away first, biting his lip. Bakura looked at him just a little longer, then closed his eyes and tried to reel himself in.

He scraped the damp hair from his forehead, then let his head hang back as he trailed his fingers down his body. Eyes still closed, he listened smugly to Malik’s reaction as he toyed with his own nipple, then dropped his hand to his dick. He knew Malik was watching as he stroked himself; Malik gripped his thighs hard enough to leave fingerprints. 

“Oh,” Malik sighed, “Bakura…” 

“Don’t you dare come before I finish,” Bakura panted as he felt Malik tense under him. 

Malik’s response was a grunt. Then he pushed Bakura’s fingers away, closing his own fist around him. Bakura bit his lip hard enough to taste blood as he let Malik thrust up into him while he stroked him, fast and ungentle and so fucking good. The waves of pleasure kept building, surging towards his climax, until he forgot to keep himself from moaning as he doubled over and came onto Malik’s stomach. 

He felt himself lifted, shifted and dropped onto his back. Malik was between his legs, bending his knees to his chest, fumbling for a moment but then he was inside him again and going hard. Bakura looked up through a haze at Malik’s face above him, registering vague images: the pendulum swing of his earrings, a flash of teeth as he drew back his lips. He felt something like a smile on his own face, and saw Malik smile back, sharp and feral. A laugh worked its way up from his throat, and Malik responded to that too, sparing the breath for a chuckle as he pounded Bakura into the mattress. 

Malik was leaning on him hard, bracing his weight close to the wound on Bakura’s arm, but Bakura didn’t say anything. The pulsing ache sharpened his pleasure, and he felt electrified down to the finest nerve. The pain, and the trembling overstimulation at his core, and the warm pressure of Malik’s weight twisted together into a cable securing him to the world. He wore his host’s body easily enough, but to feel human and really _alive_ inside this flesh—it was good, so good.

“Bakura.” Malik’s thrusts were faltering, each one deeper and slower, pushing as hard into Bakura’s body as he could. “Bakura, fuck—I’m going to—” 

Malik sank to his forearms as he came, his damp hair trailing across Bakura’s neck as he panted beside his ear. Without thinking, Bakura wrapped one arm around his shoulders.

Malik kept his head tucked against Bakura’s neck as he recovered, and Bakura left his arm where it was, although he realized that his fingertips were brushing the upper line of the wings cut into Malik’s back. Malik seemed too far gone to notice, though; or maybe he just didn’t care.

After what seemed like minutes, Malik shifted and sat up. He looked down at Bakura, and was about to say something, when his gaze slid to the side. He frowned. 

“Is that—?” 

Bakura rolled over. The sheet beside him was stained red with bloody fingerprints. He huffed a short laugh. 

Malik looked from the stain, to his own hand, to Bakura’s bandages. “You’re bleeding again,” he said. 

“Malik, you sound almost concerned.” 

“Well, I’m not into scars.” 

Bakura’s mouth curled into his habitual half-smile. “I wouldn’t worry about it. By the time this scars, you’ll be long gone.” 

Malik didn’t say anything. He looked away again, his eyes wandering restlessly. “Shit,” he said, his voice a low laugh. “I think we better leave a big tip for Kaiba’s housekeeping staff.” 

Bakura followed the path of his gaze, taking in the wrecked bed, the sheets tangled and damp with sweat and semen and the blood from his wound. He laughed too, and kept laughing as he stood and started looking for his jeans. 

“Oh, so _now_ you’re leaving,” Malik said. 

Bakura shrugged, avoiding Malik’s eyes. “Someone might start looking for you.” 

“Maybe.” He heard Malik move towards him, and when he turned, Malik reached a hand out to his face. “But do you really think you should let your precious host wander around the blimp looking like this?” He traced a finger down the bruises on Bakura’s neck, then along the faint line across his throat. 

“Well,” Bakura said. He looked at the sunlight streaming across the window: still a few hours until evening. 

“Think there might be time for a third round?” Malik crossed his arms, but the gesture did nothing to hide the want in his eyes. 

Bakura smirked. “We’ll see. In the meantime…” He reached into the pocket of his jeans. “Want to play cards?”


End file.
